


Carpet

by BelcherMorganJames



Series: Doctor Who - The New 2005 Scenes [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Bill Potts Deserves Better, Episode: s10e01 The Pilot, F/M, I reckon Bill's grandmother was a cow, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Mentioned Bill Potts, Mid-Canon, Missing Scene, Spoilers for Episode: s10e01 The Pilot, Twelfth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelcherMorganJames/pseuds/BelcherMorganJames
Summary: Set during 'The Pilot' by Steven MoffatThe Doctor decides to repay Bill for the carpet - with a couple of snips. Sadly, he forgets the tragedy that follows...
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor / Moira (The Pilot), Twelfth Doctor/Bill Potts
Series: Doctor Who - The New 2005 Scenes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022469
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Carpet

**Carpet**  
By **James Morgan Belcher**

“Doctor!” arose a spontaneous sprinkling of glee from the mother-to-be, though of course, she did not know this at the time. SNAP! “Ugh, digital cameras. The clicks are just never right”, the Doctor grumbled as he entered the house and had a mug of welcoming, warming and wonderful tea bestowed unto his empty hand. He fumbled with the slightly overfilled mug and his twee little clicker before Rosie Potts relinquished his beverage so he had chuckled with slight embarrassment and pockets the camera.

“So, the, um... the pictures?”

The Doctor looked at Rosie Potts quizzically. “OH! The pictures. The pictures, the pictures, the pictures. What about them?” He gawked with a twinge in his eyebrows the formed an expression walking the line somewhere between interrogatory and abashedly.

“Are they any good? I’ve never exactly been the, you know, pretty-picture-type.” The Doctor just gave an ironically haughty flap of his arms and plodded into the living room, still brandishing his tea. He set the tea down on the table, his galumphing boots causing vibrations to rise through the table legs and ripple the surface of his beverage.

Rosie Potts’ mother, Nel Potts considered the Doctor with a subtle skepticism that with birthed in her glare with every glance upon him she took. However, the rather undisclosed delight that her previously photogenic daughter had since developed had neutered that skepticism each and every time. “Good afternoon to you too, Doctor.” Nel retorted in a slightly exaggerated manner to a greeting she never received.

“Oh, good afternoon.”

Silence.

“Camera” he delightedly declared, whipping the titchy picture box out of his bottomless pocket by it’s safety strap. “Who wants to talk about cameras?” patting his knees and snatching up his tea without spilling a drop. Rosie Potts was blushing behind his notice on the spot on her mother’s sofa she’d taken up next to him. With a rather theatrical flourish that Nel Potts thought someone unbecoming of a man of his years, the Doctor brought the view-back face of the camera to bear and pressed it into life. Such grace of a young woman in a comfortable pose in the midst of nature, the shyness of the same young woman in a close-up, in front of the sea, a coloured wall – a whole beautiful plethora.

“How do you do it?”

The Doctor was a little understatedly bemused but kept it concealed behind a broad, thespian expression of wonderment.

“Do what?” he replied, naught for drawing that expression of feigned glee off his face.

“Make me look like that.”

“I don’t make you look like anything. You look like you; nothing I do can change what you look like in these photographs. I just take them for posterity.”

“My kids would have a field day poking fun at these. If.. I.. had any.. kids that is.”

Nel Potts rolled her eyes with derision, “Any son or daughter of yours? Of course they would. I remember the remarks you made of my childhood pictures. Quite proud of my youth, I was, but you can’t trust a young’un to respect their elders.”

The Doctor stifled a snigger – not for want of teasing but he’d spent a sizable portion of his lives extensively aging backwards after all.

The phone in the hallway sounded it’s usual, buggy cry; “Answer me, people, answer me!” like a crying child baying for attention. “I’ve got it” Rosie Potts rounded to the hallway and out of sight. The Doctor and Nel Potts sat observing one another in silence – they weren’t the types of people to strike up a conversation on any subject lest for external intervention.

Rosie Potts swung her head back indoors; “My doctor’s appointment...” she chuckles upon recalled to whom she was speaking, “My doctor’s appointment has been suddenly brought forward, so I’ve got to go. Terry’s giving me a lift; nice to see you, Doctor.” She bolted to the open door and shouted back “Love you, mum!” thrusting back an air kiss audible enough for her mother to hear it.

* * *

Twelve months later, Rosie Potts was dead. It had come out of nowhere yet surprised nobody. Glum weather overhung the proceedings like one of the beauty-mongers of the world had been thieved in the night. He’d just gotten the pictures developed – he’d clamped onto them for a year, deep inside his titchy clicker. The Doctor didn’t approach the grievers; it wasn’t his place.

“And it’s no more your place to run off and leave your granddaughter without saying goodbye!” he raged under his breath, even though Nel Potts was only a couple of inches behind him. “Bill? Bill Potts? A wonderfully charming human being – quite a stretch from where she and her mother came, isn’t it?”

Nel Potts stood in silent fury, “You dare to stand in judgment on me, Doctor? You? You’re not even family.”

“And if is this is where you insist on standing while you daughter is lowered into the earth to remain there forever, you have nerve to suggest that you are either.” He kept his voice, low, slow and venomous.

“Get out of here.”

Silence.

“Why not? I’ve got a Christmas to save.”

Nel Potts never cared for his ridiculous flights of fancy; then he was gone, just like that. There’d been a slight whooshing underneath the tree line impeding her sight, but that was it. Nobody saw Nel Potts after that. Nobody talked about Nel Potts after that. And saddest of all, nobody spoke of Rosie Potts after that – a light in the world snuffed out and the collective pain of her grievers burying the candle.

The TARDIS landed again, only a few minutes earlier and the Doctor clocked that he’d given himself enough time. “Clara Oswald, eat your heart out; this cupboard makes my TARDIS look barren” he grunted for every empty microwave box and shoe rack he fought his way through, scouring for the deepest, darkest point of the cupboard.

He buried the box deep; he had to be certain that it wouldn’t be found until it’s time.

Click. Squeak. Slam. Gasp.

The Doctor emerged from behind the cupboard door and Moira Ambrose was staring at him, phone clasped and eyed wide.

* * *

“Not a word”, the Doctor whispered gently and mournfully. Nobody can know.”

“Certainly not Bill?”

“Certainly not Bill.”

*vworp*

* * *

‘Pocket money’, Bill thought best to keep to her. ‘How thoughtful’ she continued to think with an obvious sense of sarcasm in her lack of voice.

“I thought you’d enjoy choosing something for yourself, since you’re always passing judgments.”

Rude.

“I hope you didn’t spend too much on this.”

“Nah, this should cover it”, Bill waved her pocket money in it’s envelope like a flag of surrender.

A solitary cardboard box sat on the table.

“What’s that?"

The time had come; the time the Doctor had told her would come. “Keep it together, old girl. Remember what he said.”

And she did.

“Oh, I found that at the back of the cupboard with all your old stuff.” She couldn’t stand to face her for the next part.

“Just photographs of your mum.” And she could almost feel Bill’s heart stop in her chest. She’d feel guilty about this last bit possibly for as long as she’d live.

“Didn’t know we had them.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten to the notes (and not just clicked on the button above) thank you for reading this all the way through - to tell you the truth, I'm doing this because I've completely lost my faith in showing my work anywhere else because I'm pretty convinced that nobody with the power to display it widespread really gives much of a toss for a nobody like myself.
> 
> So, long and short - if you liked this and fancy seeing more from me, stick around, I'm sure something will come of it.
> 
> Also, follow me on Twitter, if you want to, of course. You don't have to but it would be very nice of you: https://twitter.com/A_Common_James
> 
> Thank you all again.
> 
> \- JMB


End file.
